


Greater Love

by Sioux



Series: Twenty Past [2]
Category: Strike Back
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 08:48:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4953985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sioux/pseuds/Sioux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens after Michael tells Finn his father is officially dead to that Tuesday morning(!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greater Love

The sun was heading towards the horizon when Damien made the decision to stop in a one horse town about six miles off I98.

'What do you want to do? Stop here and pick up food or find a diner?'

'Diner,' Finn replied, immediately.

'Could do both,' Mike said. 'Buy some food for breakfast then eat at a diner.'

'As long as he's not cooking,' Finn said, getting off the back of the bike and gesturing to his father.

'Hey! I can cook!'

'MRE's, his specialty,' Mike chimed in.

'Fuck you, very much Mikey. Ma'am,' Scott added, with his best innocent smile as an elderly lady glared at him for his profanities.

'Been in town three minutes and he's already upsetting the locals,' Mike said, stirring it.

'That's my Dad,' Finn, replied, walking towards the general store with Mike.

'What is this?' Scott asked plaintively, 'Get at Scott day?'

 

Home cooked food at the diner was good, Scott treating himself to two portions of apple pie, after which all three made their way back to the bikes and roared off into the night.

A little way outside the town they set-up camp. Fire lit and a pot of coffee on to boil. Finn set out sleeping bags around the fire whilst Scott and Mike collected fire wood, enough to see them through to dawn. The further North they travelled the colder it was getting at nights. 

Finn settled to sleep almost immediately, Scott spending a few minutes rearranging his sleeping bag and shifting any stones out from the area where he would be resting his body. Mike grinned to himself as he settled on his back.

'Shut up!' Scott growled.

Mike gave up and laughed out loud. ''Night Princess,' he sang out sweetly.

'Screw you, honey,' came the equally saccharine reply.

For all the day had been long and the previous months extremely tense Mike couldn't fall asleep. They were safe, for the foreseeable future at least. He'd dropped off the grid as soon as he'd gotten out of Ridley's Whitehall office. Names had been changed, several times. Damien Scott was officially KIA. They had enough funds in high denomination currency and high value, easily transportable, commodities, courtesy of Uncle Sam and the traitorous Christy Bryant, to last them both a lifetime, if they were reasonably careful. He'd eaten, he was physically tired; shouldn't have been a problem but his mind refused to settle.

'Mikey? You OK?' a whispered enquiry came out of the semi-dark.

'Yeah.'

'Leg bothering you?'

'Nah. How's the gut?'

'OK.'

'Not popped your scar with all that pie?'

'Fuck you!'

Mike grinned to the sky.

Silence settled for a few minutes followed by a rustle and swish. Sounded like Scott moving himself closer without bothering to get out of his sleeping bag, lazy scrote.

'You sure you're OK?' Scott whispered, his voice much closer.

Mike arched his back, tilting his head. Sure enough Scott's face loomed out of the gloom about a foot away from him.

'Yeah, just can't sleep.'

A hand nudged his shoulder holding a flat bottle. Mike took a stiff belt and passed it back. He could hear Scott take a drink.

'You're tense. You need a good shag.'

'You offering?' Mike asked, his mouth uttering the question without his brain's permission.

Scott snorted. 'As long as I don't have to kiss you.'

The bottle appeared in Mike's eye line again.

'Up yours,' Mike toasted with the bottle.

'Not on a first date, tiger. Hand job or blow job, take your pick,' Scott replied, taking the bottle back.

An odd, waiting silence ensued. Mike tilted his head back again to find Scott sitting up, regarding him in the flickering firelight.

Scott raised his eyebrows.

He really could be a totally annoying, tenacious little prick when he wanted.

Slowly Mike sat up, mirroring Scott's position.

'I've never done this before,' he started, haltingly.

Scott laid his hand on his arm and said, 'Don't worry, Mikey, I'll be gentle with you.'

'Prick!' he snarled, grabbing the bottle.

Scott gave his gravelly, dirty laugh as he took the bottle back and drank then bumped Mike with his shoulder.

'Done what?' he finally asked.

Mike glared at him then faced the fire.

'This. Just taken off.'

'Sure we have. We rented a couple of bikes and took off for weeks.'

'That's it, A few weeks. Or a few days. It was always a finite time period. Seventy-two hours leave then we had to be back and prepping for the next mission or the next intake. I've literally never just taken off with no end date in mind.'

'Maybe this is what you need. Some freedom to let your soul breathe.'

Mike turned his incredulous gaze onto Scott.

'Who are you and what have you done with Damien Scott?'

Scott leaned back saying, 'Hey, the chicks love it!'

Now it was Mike's turn to be inquisitor. 'Speaking of which, I've not see you sniffing after your usual quota of pussy since.... Austria, when you got shot.'

'When we got shot and you got stabbed as well,' Scott added bitterly. 'Anyway, I'm discrete.'

'As a tom cat. You got a dose?'

'No!'

'I'm amazed.'

'Well, not recently anyway,' Scott amended.

A few minutes of silence followed as they traded the bottle back and forth.

'You really never just took off?'

Mike shook his head and swallowed. 'Went from school to the army. Army to the Regiment then Section Twenty. Never been in a situation where I've had unlimited free time.'

'Oh buddy, you're going to love it!' Scott promised, his eyes glittering with devilment in the firelight. 

'This time there won't be a helicopter swooping in to take us back either. It's just us now.'

'Always has been, Mikey. Always has been.'

 

In the dawn light, Finn struggled out of his sleeping bag, the several bottles of piss water the Americans called beer he'd had with dinner were banging his bladder. Two pairs of eyes opened instantly at the first sound. He froze, his arms away from his sides. Neither man moved from their sleeping position, side by side, Scott on his stomach, face turned to the right, his arm laying over Mike's chest, Mike on his back face turned to his left, his biceps bunched as his hand clenched around something under his sleeping bag. Damien nodded slightly and closed his eyes, Mike a second or two behind, his hand relaxing more slowly.

As he took himself off a ways to pee in peace, Finn felt very glad and very relieved they were on his side. They were two scary fuckers, no question about that. 

 

They celebrated Finn's seventeenth birthday over the border in Toronto. Mike decided he liked the city, it reminded him of a mix of Manchester and Glasgow. Clean with a tendency to be cool at this time of year and a friendly population. They had to lie about Finn's age so he could get served in a bar but they all enjoyed it, despite Finn's hangover, which kept them kicking their heels in the city for a day afterwards. 

They spent the next few days riding near the Great Lakes, huge bodies of water stretching away like freshwater seas. The wind blowing across the water kept the temperature lower than the land further away but Mike felt it was worth it for the views. As he sat astride his bike Scott rode up beside him.

'Feeling homesick?' he asked, his sarcasm missing for once.

Mike shook his head. 'Nothing like this at home. What about you? You've wanted to come home for a long time. Is it how you remembered?'

Scott paused. 'Truthfully, no. Think I've been away so long nowhere feels like home anymore.'

Mike laughed. 'Know what you mean, mate. Home isn't always a place.'

They relapsed into silence, soaking up the view whilst Finn skimmed stones across the choppy water.

 

As the year wound down, they headed further South towards the warmth, but not before Damien decided to show Finn the town where he'd spent more time than any other and where his favourite foster parents were buried.

'How come they died within a week of each other?' Finn asked, staring down at the plain gravestone.

'Fucking asshole drunk driver,' Scott replied, succinctly. 'We were coming back from a social at the chapel. Reverend Joe shoved me and Joe Junior out of the way, car hit him and Hannah.'

'Was Joe Junior their own child?' Mike asked quietly.

'He was adopted, a bit older than me. They couldn't have any of their own so they fostered and adopted.'

'Good people,' Mike said, griping Scott's shoulder briefly.

'Where's Joe Junior?' Finn asked, looking at his father. 

Scott nodded to another grave further down the line.

'Killed. Iraq.'

'You served together?' Mike asked. This was the most he'd ever heard his partner talk about his life before Delta Force and Section Twenty. And whilst he was in the mood for chat, he was going to get as much information as possible out of him.

'Different units. Hell knows how, but he found out I'd got into some trouble after Joe and Hannah passed. Came and found me. Persuaded me to join up.'

'Is that how you got to Australia? With the military?'

'A couple of years later, yeah.'

'IT Consultant?'

'I was working comms for a joint op. Told your Mum about the computers, missed out the bit about working for the U.S. Army.'

When Scott squatted down in front of the gravestone, Mike gently pulled Finn back, giving his partner some space and time with the Reverend Joe and Hannah.

When they were quite some distance away, Finn asked, 'Did you know all that?'

Mike shook his head. 'He never talks about his time before Delta Force. Took him long enough to tell me he has a son.'

'How long have you been partners?'

'Over ten years.'

'It doesn't bother you that you know virtually nothing about Damien.'

'I know what matters, Finn. I know he's had my back for all those years and he's still got it.'

'And you've got his,' Finn said, looking into Mike's eyes, seeing the truth in their green depths. 'I swear, you two are closer than Mum and Marcus have ever been. And they've been married for fifteen years.'

Mike laughed. 'You end up closer to your partner than your wife. Can be tough on the wives.'

'You're married?' Finn asked, his expression gobsmacked.

'No. Not any more. She got killed because of my job.'

'Oh. I'm sorry for your loss.'

'Thanks. It was a while ago, Finn, feels like a lifetime ago, and I wasn't exactly in line for Husband of the Year award,' Mike replied, leaning back against the church yard wall, putting his sunglasses back on and lifting his face to the afternoon sun marking a clear end to the conversation.

All the sudden heavy emotion was making Finn feel very much out of his depth, it was so different from the usual, happy go lucky way Mike and his Dad were around him.

In the silence the scent from a flower cart a few yards further down the sidewalk became more noticeable. Finn searched his pocket for some money.

'Mike, can you lend me ten bucks?'

He grunted and pulled a few bills from his jeans pocket, handing one to Finn and watched as Finn chose two very different bunches of flowers; one a nice mixed bouquet the other a smaller bunch, mainly blues and deep reds. Mike didn't have a clue what kind of flowers they were. Finn paid and jogged back passed Mike and into the graveyard towards Scott. He had no idea what Finn's mother and stepfather were like, but from what he had seen so far they had done a decent job of bringing up the boy.

He watched as Finn presented the large bunch to Scott, who hesitated before pulling Finn in for a hug. Together they arranged the flowers on the grave, then laid the other bunch on Joe Junior's grave. Finn waited a respectful distance away as Scott tidied around before standing and making obeisance to a fellow soldier. They walked back, Scott's arm across Finn's shoulders, although, if Mike were any judge, Scott would have problems doing that for very much longer with the rate Finn was growing.

Mike fell in beside them as they walked back to the bikes.

'Damien, do you want to hang around town for a couple of days?' Finn asked.

'No,' he replied, decisively, shaking his head. 'We got some daylight left, lets use it.'

 

By the time Damien came to a stop, they were almost one hundred and seventy miles south and it looked like Damien was thirsty, extremely thirsty. Consciously Mike pulled back on his drinking waiting to see how the evening would proceed. Pretty much as expected, although Scott was holding back on the flirting, as he had been doing for months now. 

Being on the run was the excuse he'd given in Europe, which was fair enough.

Finn, though, was showing himself to be his father's son and chatting up the young, pretty barmaid, laying on the Aussie accent with a trowel as soon as he realised she loved it.

Mike signalled for another shot of bourbon, intending it to be his last for the evening. It wouldn't be fair on Finn for both of them to tie one on and leave the seventeen year old to deal with his excessively inebriated father plus friend. He turned back to see which woman Scott had his eye on for his bed partner. Scott was sitting at the end of the bar, a glass halfway to his lips and his face set in a ferocious frown.

'What's up, mate?'

'Think he's serious about her?'

Mike laughed, 'Probably about as serious as you'd be.'

'Shit!'

'What?'

'Think he's got anything with him?'

'Anything?'

'You know, a rubber.'

Mike laughed and accidentally inhaled his drink, coughing and spluttering.

'Come on, buddy, don't die on me now,' Scott said, battering him on his back and sounding suddenly surprisingly sober.

Mike held up his hand to stop the rough and ready first aid, before saying smugly, 

'Well, if he's anything like his old man, the answer to that is gonna be no.'

Scott glared at him, searching his laughing face. 

'Fuck!' Then he slammed his glass down, launched himself off his bar stool, gave Finn a hard stare as he passed him and strode through the door to the men's room, returning a very short time later.

'Hey Finn, you want another drink, buddy?' Scott asked jauntily on his return journey.

'I'm OK, Damien,' Finn replied, surprised. Then Scott leaned in closer, said something which Mike couldn't hear and discretely pushed a small packet into the boy's jeans pocket at the same time. Finn's face coloured up as he said, 'Damien!'

Mike had to put his head down so Finn wouldn't see him laughing.

When Scott replaced himself on his barstool, started watching Finn like a hawk and switched his drink order from whisky to a lite beer, Mike nearly wet himself.

As October turned to November even the warm southern states shivered through an extended cold spell. Of the three of them it was Mike, the aficionado of English, no sun summers and eons long, wet, cold winters, who was affected most. He miserably sniffed his way through Día de Muertos celebrations and coughed constantly as they made their way back into the U.S. in the days following. Scott wanted to stop and spend a few days in a motel, in the warm, and let Mike get over the chest infection but Mike wouldn't hear of it. He insisted he'd be fine in a couple of days. In his turn Scott insisted they stop. The disagreements began to escalate and of the two of them, Mike was managing to out stubborn his partner. Three epic screaming matches over three days ended with Scott stamping away swearing mightily and Mike retreating into breathless, painful silence, turning his back on Finn's dark eyes and worried face. 

Finn just wished one of them would act like an adult and seek some help for Mike, unfortunately, it seemed like he'd drawn the short straw.

After the last echoes of their latest shouting match had faded away to silence, Finn followed his father.

'Why won't he stop anywhere or see a doctor?'

Scott hesitated, 'He's probably worried it'll give us away.'

'Somehow I don't think a bottle of antibiotics is going to alert anyone.'

Scott shrugged. To an extent he shared Mikey's almost irrational fear of discovery, more for his son than for the two of them. He and Mike were soldiers, they'd disappeared once, they could certainly do it again. Finn didn't have their training. He chose not to share that insight with his son.

'Come on Damien, let's rent somewhere to stay, at least until he gets over it. He's just not getting any better.'

'You think he's going to meekly agree? He's a fucking stubborn asshole. He'll just ride off into the sunset.'

'So stop him.'

'What do you want me to do, knock him out?' Whilst it was a decent idea, although when Mike came round again he would certainly make his displeasure known.

'Don't be a dick! Disable his bike. No transport, he's gotta to stay put. The condition he's in, he won't be able to work out what's wrong with it. He can barely stand up for ten minutes together.'

Scott took the cigarette out of his mouth and stared admiringly at his son. 'You sneaky fucker.'

'I can't understand why you didn't think of it, first.'

Scott didn't know why, either. 

 

The first part of Finn's plan worked like a dream. At the next town, Finn took Mike to the general store on the pretext of picking up some essentials, Scott insisting he needed to use the facilities and he'd meet them at the diner for a late lunch. As he watched them walk across the street, he noticed Mike favouring his left leg. It had been a long time since he'd done that. Quickly he loosed connections, not actually causing damage, just making sure his bike wouldn't start again, then stepped into the diner. Given the time, it wasn't too crowded. He picked a table with a view of the street, old habits dying hard. Fifteen minutes later Finn came running out of the general store, looking for Scott and desperately signalling to him.

'Shit!' he muttered under his breath, running across the road. It didn't take a genius to work out what he was going to find.

Mike, on the floor, incoherent, being expertly examined by a spare, tall, grey-haired man.

'Mikey!' Scott cried, skidding to a halt on his knees. He touched Mike's face which felt hot enough to fry eggs. Shit! He should have put his foot down and insisted they stop before this, even if he'd had to sit on Michael to do it.

'This is my Dad, Mike's friend,' Finn said to the grey-haired man.

He nodded gravely to Scott before saying, 'Your friend needs a hospital, now.'

The owner of the general store put down the telephone saying, 'On their way, Doc.'

Scott just nodded, as someone trained as a field medic, he wasn't blind to what grey skin and a bluish tinge on the lips of a patient meant. Gently he pulled Mike into a sitting position, getting behind him to hold him up, trying to ease his rattling breathing.

The doctor nodded approvingly, as he flicked open his bag and pulled out his stethoscope. He opened Mike's jacket, finding his way through the layers of clothes to skin and listened to the front of his chest, then asked Scott to hold him so he could listen to his lungs at the back. As soon as the doctor finished, Mike curled against Scott, craving warmth he really didn't need at that point.

'What do you think, Doctor?' Finn asked.

'Has he been sleeping rough?' the Doctor asked.

Scott nodded. 'Road trip,' he answered, shortly, his own body shaking with the force of Mike's rigor.

He nodded, and stood. 

'It's just the 'flu, isn't it?' Finn asked.

'You understand, we're only a small hospital here, but we'll do our best.' He gripped Scott's shoulder, neatly side-stepping Finn's question. 

'Dad?' Finn asked softly, his eyes huge.

Scott could feel his own eyes tearing up. 'What are you thinking, doc? Influenza and bronchitis?'

'I'll need to get x-rays and blood tests, but I'm pretty sure it's gone beyond that. I'm sorry,' he added gently. 'You both could do with a vaccine, you've obviously been in close contact with him.'

The doctor didn't need to spell it out any further. 

Pneumonia? And not the walking variety either. How the hell had Michael kept going in the grip of this infection?

'Scott?' 

'Yeah?'

'What's happening?' Mike whispered.

'You're sick, Mikey, real sick.'

The eyes looking up at his were confused. 'Don't remember getting shot.'

'You didn't, it's that cough we didn't take care of,' he explained softly. 'You're in for a hospital stay now, buddy.'

Mike shook his head. 'No. No, it's not safe. You need to leave, don't come back for me.' Weakly he tried to push Scott away. 'Take Martinez, she's a good soldier. Sorry Scott... his voice crumbled into a prolonged coughing fit, speckles of blood landing on Scott's hands, scarlet staining Mike's lips. 

Mike relapsed into a semi-conscious condition.

The doctor bent down, wiping Mike's mouth with gloved hands and gauze. 'He has a high temperature, confusion isn't uncommon,' he explained as he continued to wipe Scott's hands free of blood spots. 'Try to remember not to touch anything until you can get your hands washed in antiseptic soap.'

Scott nodded his comprehension. Like hell he was going to let Mike go through this on his own. He felt guilty that he hadn't tried harder to get him some antibiotics earlier in the week. Mike's level of consciousness was falling, he could feel it in the way the other man was becoming boneless against him.

As the sound of a siren drew nearer, he turned his head and whispered urgently, 'Don't you even think of checking out on me, Mikey! You hear? Don't you fucking dare!'

Two paramedics entered, greeting the doctor familiarly. Scott could hear the doctor giving instructions to get Michael admitted into intensive care and to radio ahead for x-rays and tests to be prepared, but he was too sunk in misery to pay attention. 

He helped the paramedics to lift Mike onto the gurney, shocked at how light his friend felt. A cold chill settled into his gut. Mike might not live; a figure of thirty percent mortality drifted up from his subconscious. He watched the ambulance drive away, just about remembered to thank the store owner and the doctor before striding across the road to where they'd left the bikes, it felt like a lifetime ago. Efficiently he tightened up the wires he'd loosened then he hot wired it, the keys on their way to hospital with their owner. Finn was already on their bike, waiting, his face openly telegraphing his distress.

'No speeding, OK?'

Finn nodded. Like Damien, he just wanted to get to the hospital and be with Mike. Somehow it felt very wrong to see Damien without Mike.

Scott checked his mirrors and pulled out into the traffic behind Finn, operating completely on automatic. His mind totally consumed with one terrible thought. The thought of being without Michael made him feel nauseous, his heart tripping double time. His nice safe life, the life Michael had gained for him, stretched out before him; endless, cold, dark and very, very lonely.

The hospital was small but the staff knew what they were doing. The receptionist had also been alerted to expect them both. Firmly she steered Scott and Finn into a side room to get Michael's details. Or the details which would be on his passport; Michael Bridges and his best buddy, Scott Michaels.

Once she'd taken the relevant information she told Scott that a nurse would be by shortly with a pneumonia vaccine and that the men's washroom contained antibacterial soap. Then she'd left the room. Scott turned to his son.

'Finn, they're going to keep Mike isolated because of his infection, it can be pretty contagious in a hospital full of sick people, which isn't good. Once they've given you the injection, I want you to go back into town and find us a place to stay. He paused, Mike would need time to recover if he came through. No, not if, when he came through. But, if the unthinkable happened, he knew the last thing he'd want to do would be to stay in this town. He'd put Finn on a plane home after the funeral and then go on a bender designed to kill him. 'Get a motel for now. We'll sort something else out later.' He pulled a couple of hundred dollars out of his wallet and handed it over.

Finn took the money slowly. 'Dad, Mike is going to get better, isn't he?'

'I don't know,' he answered honestly.

They waited in silence until a nurse came in with the promised injections, at which point Finn left. Scott went and washed up then begged, literally begged, to be allowed to sit with Mike. Finally after the doctor's permission was given, they dressed him in scrubs, complete with gloves, cap and facemask before letting him into Mike's room. 

Mike was hooked up to two IV's and an oxygen mask on his face, which had reduced the terrible grey colour a little. His eyes were open but unseeing. The doctor, now dressed in scrubs, capped and masked, was completing Mike's admission notes at the side of the bed.

'Mr Bridges has led a colourful life,' he remarked gently, filling in the position of every scar he'd found during his examination.

Scott slid onto the chair on the opposite side of the bed. He didn't answer and the doctor didn't seem surprised at the silence.

'Mr, umm, Michaels, Mr Bridges has had an x-ray which does show multiple shadows, so multi-lobar pneumonia is my diagnosis. I've put him on a broad spectrum antibiotic for now. His blood results should be back in twenty-four to thirty-six hours. We can narrow it down to a more specific antibiotic for him then.'

'Thanks, Doc.'

The doctor adjusted the IV flow, the drops falling faster into the reservoir. He took a few seconds to look at Michael, then went to the light controls by the door and dimmed the lights so they wouldn't shine directly into his patient's eyes. The effect was immediate, Michael's shoulders relaxed, his eyes opened wider. The doctor nodded to himself and turned to leave.

'Doc, what's your name?'

'Shelby, Grayson Shelby. Major, US Army, retired.'

Scott stood, managing to make the gesture look natural as he held out his hand.

'Thank you for looking after him, Doctor Shelby.'

'You're both welcome, son,' he replied, shaking the proffered hand.

A nurse entered the room, carefully shutting the door behind her, she too was capped, gowned and masked. She nodded to Doctor Shelby and set down a plastic tablet cup on the bedside table, pouring a glass of water from the jug.

'Mr Bridges, I need you to take these for me,' she said, pushing his oxygen mask down and going to put the two tablets in Mike's mouth. 

He turned his head away, keeping his mouth firmly shut even though he was obviously finding breathing difficult. When she pressed them to his lips he reacted violently pushing her away. She gasped even though his weakened state meant he didn't have the strength to hurt her badly. However the glass of water she'd been holding in her hand splashed across Scott and the floor.

Scott stood, his quick reactions keeping her from falling.

'There's no need to do that, nurse,' Scott said.

'I know my job, Sir,' she snapped, a martial light entering her eye.

'What is it you're trying to give him? Tylenol?' Scott asked.

Her eyes flicked to Shelby before she nodded at Scott.

'I'll give it to him,' Scott said, picking up the tablets from where they'd landed on the bed.

'No,' she said. 'We give him his meds. If necessary I'll have him restrained for his own good.'

Scott looked at Shelby mutely asking for the other man's understanding before he said, 'I have some medical training and he trusts me.'

The nurse was moving towards the bed when Scott neatly stepped in front of her and growled, 'No way are you going to restrain him.'

'Nurse Carter, let him try. If Mr Bridges won't co-operate with his friend, then I'm afraid we will have no choice in the matter. That fever needs to be reduced before he becomes brain damaged.'

Nurse Carter blew down her nose like an angry horse and stepped back, folding her arms over her ample bosom. Scott picked up the tablets and refilled the glass with water. Sitting on the edge of the bed he took off his mask, so his face was visible then touched Mike's hand.

Behind him he could sense the nurse coming forward to remonstrate with him for removing his face mask, he held his hand out, making it clear she should stay back.

'Mikey, you need to take some more Tylenol, buddy,' he said, keeping his voice low.

Mike's hand shot out and held his arm. 'You need to get out of here, Scott, they're trying to poison me. Get out!' he gasped, his chest heaving, the sound of ruttling from his lungs loud in the room.

'It's OK, bud, it's OK. It really is just Tylenol.'

Mike's glazed, confused expression broke Scott's heart. He really didn't have a clue where he was or what was happening to him. He'd slid back into his nightmares of a mission going wrong.

'Do you trust me?' Scott asked, his eyes never leaving Mike's.

'With my life, not m'wife,' he whispered, his words slurring.

Scott grinned.

'OK, one tablet at a time with water. Is that OK?'

'Copy that,' Mike croaked.

Scott smiled then put his arm around Mike, holding him more upright. He placed the first tablet into his mouth and then the lip of the glass. He drank and swallowed. Quickly Scott repeated the action finally replacing his oxygen mask. Mike leaned against him, his eyes closing. The struggle with the nurse had taken what little energy he had.

'You sleep, bud. I'll take first watch,' Scott told him quietly. Almost imperceptibly Mike nodded and relaxed even more against the other man.

'He'll need to take those every four hours,' Shelby told Scott. 

'I'm not going anywhere, Doc,' Scott replied, making himself comfortable on the side of Mike's bed.

At a gesture from Shelby, Nurse Carter left the room with him. As the door was shutting he heard Doctor Shelby give instructions to have a cot brought into the room for Mr Michaels' use. Nurse Carter motioned to Scott through the observation window to replace his mask. He smiled sweetly and ignored her. He'd been in close contact with Mike since he first started coughing and sniffing, if hadn't caught it yet, he wasn't going to.

Three hours later Finn came by with the address of the motel he'd booked them into. Nurse Carter would not entertain Finn entering Mike's isolation ward. Making sure Mike was asleep, Scott left and went outside into the fresh air with his son. He explained he was going to stay at the hospital.

'Nurse iron pants in there was going to restrain him if he didn't take his tablets.'

'What were they trying to give him?' Finn asked, frowning.

'Same stuff I've been forcing on him, Tylenol.'

'He takes that fine!'

'He takes it from us, he doesn't know her and he's not quite with it upstairs,' Scott said, making circular motions towards his own head. 'So I'm staying, at least until he's out of danger.'

'No worries, Damien.'

'Sorry, Finn. Not much of a road trip for you.'

'Don't be ridiculous! Mike's sick. After all he's done for both of us, he's way more important than a fucking road trip!'

Scott smiled and hugged Finn to him, whispering in his ear, 'You're a fucking awesome kid.'

'I hope I'm a pretty decent human being as well, Da er Damien.'

Giving him a last tight hug, Scott dispensed his next bit of fatherly advice.

'Keep in touch and if you're not coming to the hospital, let me know.'

'I'll be coming in, even if I can only sit by the window. Iron knickers can't be on duty all the time.'

'Let's hope not. I'd better be getting back.'

'Here!' Finn thrust a brown bag at him.

Scott gave his son a puzzled look before opening it to find a sandwich, an apple and a bottle of soda.

'You didn't eat today.'

At Scott's raised eyebrows he replied, 'I already ate mine.'

'Thanks Finn.'

They walked back inside together, as they passed the nurses station, where Nurse Carter was conferring with another nurse, she handed Scott another plastic tablet cup.

'Mr Bridges next dose of Tylenol. You're still willing give him his meds?'

'Certainly am, thank you Nurse.' He nodded pleasantly and kept on walking, Finn by his side, only detouring to bring a chair near to the observation window.

Once Scott was safely inside the ward with the door closed, Nurse Lopez said softly, 

'What do you think? Love or duty?'

'What?' Carter replied inelegantly.

'The way Mr Michaels is looking after Mr Bridges, love or duty.'

'Oh, love! No doubt about that one. Those two are joined at the hip.'

'Damn!' Nurse Lopez replied quietly, with feeling. 'It really is true, the good ones really do have equally great boyfriends!'

Nurse Carter tried to turn her laugh into a cough whilst looking at Finn, making sure he hadn't heard.

Finn had heard just fine, the news wasn't a surprise to him. He was busy watching that emotion in action inside the isolation ward, Damien carefully and efficiently helping Mike to sit up and take his tablets, then fussing around his bed, adjusting pillows and blankets keeping the other man as comfortable as possible so he could concentrate on fighting the infection raging inside his body.

Scott repositioned the fan, Mike didn't seem to like it blowing straight in his face. He seemed happier when cool air was blowing across his skin. All the time he was talking to Mike, explaining what he was doing. Then he leaned over and used wet wipes to remove the sheen of sweat across the other man's face. Mike seemed to like that although Scott wasn't happy to observe the way the sides of his nose were working in an abnormal pattern to keep pulling oxygen into his lungs. After a few hours on oxygen, his breathing pattern should have been improving, even a little. He adjusted the bed head so Mike was more upright, put a hand on his belly and one on his chest to feel which muscles he was using. He wasn't using his diaphragm at all. He pulled out his phone and sent a text: 

Ask Iron pants to step in here.

Finn waved his phone and stood.

'Mr Michaels?'

Scott pointed out his observations on Mike's nose then added, 'He's not using his diaphragm at all.'

'It does happen, Mr Michaels. Mr Bridges may also need physiotherapy to learn how to breath correctly again when he recovers. But, good call. I'll let Doctor Shelby know. He may increase the O2 he's getting.' She made a notation on the chart in her hand then left. 

Shortly afterwards she returned to take more bloods, increase Mike's O2 and to show Scott how to encourage Mike to belly breathe in order to stimulate his cough reflex and expectorate phlegm.

Scott got on with the somewhat messy job without word or sound of complaint. The exercise roused Mike enough to murmur, 'Mate, sorry!' when he saw Scott cleaning him up.

'Come on Mikey, get that crap out of your lungs!' he ordered, ignoring Mike's frown of pain when he had to cough deeply.

After they'd finished and settled Mike again, Carter did her obs and smiled when she got to his oximeter readings.

'His oxygen saturation is better,' she said. 'Good work Mr Bridges.'

'Thanks. Call me Scott, he's Michael.'

She nodded. 'I suggest you get your head down for a couple of hours whilst you can.'

She didn't need to tell Scott that wasn't the last time he'd be helping Mike cough up revolting coloured rubbish from his lungs that night.

Finn was still at the observation window, looking a little paler than usual.

'You OK?' Scott asked close to the glass.

He nodded. 'Nice job,' he muttered.

'Gotta be done,' Scott replied briskly. 'You want to head back to the motel? Looks like everything is settling down for the night here.'

'You staying here?'

Scott gestured to the small cot in the corner of the room. 'My needs have been provided for,' he said, in a very bad attempt at a British accent.

Finn grinned. 

'Hey, text me when you get there and watch your speed!' 

Finn rewarded him with a 'what the fuck?' look and carried on walking out of the hospital.

Scott watched him until he passed out of sight then returned to the chair at the side of Mike's bed feeling more wiped than after a full day on a mission. That was his last thought until waking hours later face down on the side of Mike's bed with a warm hand resting on his shoulder. He briefly checked his friend, patted the hand and went back to sleep.

Early morning on the second day in, Shelby added a nebuliser twice a day to Mike's regimen of drugs. Late on the same day, he also changed the antibiotics. 

Given Mike's falling level of consciousness, Scott was way beyond worried. Out of earshot of his friend he asked Shelby, 

'What's your prognosis, Doc?'

Shelby put down the sheaf of charts he was carrying, undid and slipped off the gown he wore to see Mike and lastly slid the cap from his hair.

'He's on antibiotics specific to the infection now. He's hydrated, his fever is being kept under control although not as low as I'd like it. Between you and the nursing staff you're managing to keep his SATs up. That is all we can do. Now, it's up to Michael and, if you believe, the Good Lord.'

Scott licked his lips and dropped his gaze. A hand landing on his shoulder brought his attention up again.

'He is relatively young, he's been in the habit of a lot of physical exercise albeit with quite a number of injuries as well. Between you, you have the habit of trust and deep comradeship usually found in those who have served together and I know better than to ask because I think you can't tell me,' he added quickly before Scott could speak. 'And he knows he has you and Finn rooting for him. Being there, giving him the will to live. I believe that helps more than anyone thinks because over the years I have seen miracles wrought from just that kind of belief. Just don't give up on him and he'll continue to fight.'

Scott swallowed, unable to speak.

'One more thing, don't neglect yourself. You need food, drink and sleep too.'

'Yes Sir,' he replied, hoarsely.

Shelby nodded, picked up his charts and turned to continue his rounds. Scott passed his hand across his eyes, wiping away the moisture before straightening his spine and marching back to Michael.

Around lunchtime Finn waved to his father through the observation window and waved him out. 

'What's wrong?' he asked. Finn took his arm and started to escort him away from Mike's room.

'Hey! What's going on?' Scott asked again, coming to a stop.

'OK, no way to be delicate about this,' Finn said, shoving the holdall he'd been carrying at Scott. 'You need a shower. There's one in the men's room across the hall.'

Scott looked torn. 'I'll stay and watch Michael, you go get washed up, you stink.'

'Gee, thanks buddy!' 

'No worries, Dad!'

 

Towards evening, after Mike had had his evening nebuliser and Finn had headed back to the motel Scott was sitting talking softly at Mike, verbalising his memory just so Mike would know he was there. A large, warm hand moulded itself around his arm and a pair of clear, green eyes regarded him.

'Hi,' Mike mouthed through the mask.

'Hey, Scott smiled. 'Glad to see you back with us, Mikey.'

'Fuck, you could yack for England, mate!'

The mouth was insulting him but his eyes were warm as they looked at him. 'You look like shit.'

'Better not let you near a mirror then, buddy,' he grinned back, pressing the call button.

'What's with the get-up? Is this a really late Halloween party?'

'It's to stop your Brit germs infecting the whole of known civilisation.'

'Where are we?' Mike asked.

'Hospital.'

'Yeah, got that. Where? What town?'

Scott stared at him. He really and truly didn't have a clue. Mike nodded to booklet on his bedside. 

'Dohluburg Medical Centre, apparently,' Scott read.

'How long?'

'Nearly four days.'

'I don't even remember getting here.'

'You wouldn't. You collapsed in the general store. Multi-lobar pneumonia. A few bugs nearly did what battalions of terrorists couldn't do.'

The conversation was suspended then as the nurse on call entered.

After introducing himself and making a thorough examination, Doctor Shelby said, 

'It's certainly good to see you awake. You're doing well Michael, I'm pleased to say. I think in a few more days we can get you up and about. If that goes well, we'll see about getting you discharged, although I wouldn't recommend you go back on your road trip. Living in a house for at least the next six to twelve months will help your body's recovery. You'll also need some breathing therapy and physical therapy. Exercise is good, but start slow and work up.'

He patted Mike on the shoulder before leaving the isolation ward.

'Get your head down, Mikey,' Scott said, seeing the huge yawn.

'How can I be tired, I've been sleeping for the best part of a week.'

'Not sleeping, you've been fighting off a fucking, bastard infection. You need some real rest to get your energy back.'

 

Finn was so happy to hear Mike had finally awoken he wanted to come back to the hospital with Scott. Scott dissuaded him by explaining Mike was fast asleep. Scott also took the opportunity to bring up the fact that their extended road trip had come to an effective end. Something he felt he needed to say in person rather than over the phone.

'We're gonna need to rent some place until Mikey's fit and healthy again. We can look into that tomorrow.'

Finn was way ahead of his father on that one.

'Thought we would, been looking around. There are some cabins at the other end of town,' Finn said. 'It's coming to the off season now, they'd probably be pretty cheap to rent for a while until you decide where you want to settle.'

'We'll have a look tomorrow, get some details for Mikey. See what he thinks.'

'Are you sleeping here tonight or at the hospital?'

'I'll stay here tonight. Do you want to get something to eat?'

'Yeah. I could eat. What do you want?'

'Anything! I'm starving!' Scott replied, with feeling. Mike waking up had coincided with the return of his appetite.

'There's a Chinese place, burgers, of course, there's even a little Indian restaurant...'

Scott laughed, 'Indian place, Mikey's gonna think he's died and gone to heaven!'

 

A couple of days later, after Mike had agreed with the plan to rent a cabin for three months, he and Scott were sitting in his room talking about how excited Finn was about staying in a log cabin when Nurse Lopez came in to do Mike's obs and bring a hot drink for them both. She was flirting, hot and heavy, with Scott, ending with,

'Call in and see me on your way out Scott. My shift ends in an hour.'

'Thanks, but I'm having a late dinner with my son, Finn, when I leave here,' he smiled.

'Another time, maybe,' she offered.

'Yeah, maybe.'

Mike waited until she shut the door before saying, 

'What the fuck, mate? That was all systems green! She was waving you in!'

Scott shrugged dismissively.

'Even I noticed that, so she was being really fucking obvious.'

'If you're worried I hurt her feelings, go ahead and fill in for me.'

'It wasn't me she was after.'

Silence.

'Seriously Scott, you are alright, aren't you?'

Sure I am. I'm not the one who was at death's door a week ago, Mikey.'

'You would tell me if there was a problem, wouldn't you?'

'I'm fine, quit worrying.'

Michael didn't look convinced but as Scott was setting up his nebuliser session, he couldn't really continue the discussion through the mask.

Within a further week Doctor Shelby judged Mike to be well enough to be discharged from hospital, on the strict understanding he wouldn't be camping for at least six months and that he would have someone with him. Plus he needed to keep up with his breathing exercises and start working on an exercise programme, both of which Scott made the unilateral decision that he would be supervising.

Mike moved like an octogenarian on his first outing outside the confines of the hospital. Expecting that, Scott had rented a car for the trip to their temporary new home. They drove through the town towards the outskirts on the opposite side to where they had driven in, so many days before. The cabin was situated at the far end of the holiday camp backing onto a forested area before it ascended the hills which protected Dohluburg from casual observation from the highway.  
Mike was impressed with the place. Neat, well maintained roads connected the cabins to each other and to the main road but with enough space between to ensure privacy.

Scott pulled up in front of a welcoming looking cabin, lights shining out through the windows into the dusk of a winter's evening.

Scott went to the passenger side of the car and helped Mike out without thinking about it. Finn opened the cabin door and came out to greet him, taking his arm on the other side. Together, father and son carefully walked him into the cabin and shut the door.

They came straight into the main room which was clean, warm and bright. Kitchen, dining table and chairs with a sofa and a couple of armchairs in front of a log stove which gave out a cheery heat. 

Michael nodded as he looked around and sniffed appreciatively, Finn had been cooking.

'Chicken curry,' Finn announced, going to the stove and giving the pot a stir.

'Smells good,' Mike said, his words almost over ridden by Scott's growling stomach. They all laughed.

'Bedrooms and bathroom at the back. John and another shower room at the end there,' Scott said, nodding in the direction of a door at the far end of the room as he helped Mike to one of the comfortable armchairs near the fire.

A closed door opposite to the one they had entered gave Mike a clue as to how to get to the bedrooms.

The curry was delicious. Scott and Finn both had second helpings whilst Mike was struggling his way through his first which he didn't manage to finish. Scott, being the ever helpful partner, finished it for him. After they had all eaten Mike dropped onto the sofa and almost immediately fell asleep there. Finn wanted to go into town so Scott was left with the clean-up. 

Afterwards he sat and put the TV news on low so it wouldn't disturb Mike and took the opportunity to take a good, long look at his friend. Dark shadows around his eyes and under his cheekbones accentuated his weight loss, whilst his pallor spoke of exhaustion, even from the tiny amount of exercise he had done that day.

The road trip had been intended as long-term father and son bonding, with Scott hoping and praying that Mike would make it out of England. When Mike'd managed to send the code word which meant 'Complete and safe', Scott and Finn had been sitting in a roadside diner. He'd immediately had to excuse himself and get to the john fast and then comprehensively vomited up everything in his stomach. The relief from knowing Mike was safe and would be joining them was overwhelming.

The day they had met up and Mike had tagged along 'for a while' had been the happiest he could remember for a very long time. Well, with circumstances as they were now, father and son bonding would be taking place in a cabin from now on. Mike needed help and Finn would no more hear of them deserting him than Scott would actually do that.

They had the cabin on a three month lease which would give them time to get Mike well on the way in his rehabilitation and for them to explore the town and area of Dohluburg. There was nothing to stop them leaving the place if they decided they hated it after a couple of weeks.

After an hour or two, he got Mikey tucked into bed, the man really was tired. Then he'd sat and read, the cabin being decently supplied with material, whilst waiting up for Finn. 

Finn finally arrived back well after midnight and full of talk about a group of British college kids who were staying in town, taking a break from cycling across the US to raise money for a cancer charity. According to Finn they'd been 'chatting shit,' all evening. The phrase tickled Scott, it brought to mind a lot of people he'd known through the years who were experts at that.

Next morning both Finn and Scott had eaten breakfast before the sound of running water in the bathroom told them Mike was awake. When he didn't appear in the kitchen, Scott went back to check on him.

'Hey buddy, how you doing?'

Tired eyes looked up at him.

'Been better,' he answered.

Not waiting for permission, Scott sat on the edge of the bed and put his hand on Mike's forehead.

'You want some more water, or a cup of coffee?' Scott asked, seeing the glass on the bedside was empty.

'Water's fine, mate,' Mike replied, sounding almost breathless.

Scott sped through to the kitchen and started ransacking cupboards.

'Where did we put the first aid kit?' he asked.

'Top cupboard,' Finn said.

'Can you get some ice in a jug of water please?' Scott said, opening the bag and pulling out the thermometer and a new packet of Tylenol.

'Seriously?' Finn asked, anxiously eyeing the meds whilst filling the first jug he could lay his hands on.

'His temp's back up.'

'Should I call the hospital?' Finn asked, dropping ice into water.

'No, not yet, Doc Shelby did say his temp might spike again.'

Gathering supplies he went back to Mike.

Mike thirstily drank a full glass of cool water, took the tablets without complaint with another glass full. He eyed the thermometer as it beeped.

'That's not going to work, I've just had a cold drink.'

'You'd be surprised at the places this little beauty can get a body temp reading!'

'If you're wielding it, no, I wouldn't!'

'Arm.'

Obediently Mike held out his right arm, which Scott seized and then nestled the instrument in his hot, hairy pit.

'I'm never putting that in my mouth ever again,' Mike said, leaning back against his pillows, eyes closed.

'It can be used rectally as well,' Scott informed him cheerfully. He laughed at the finger gestured in his direction.

When his armpit began to beep Mike went to take the electronic tube out but Scott held his arm down for a further five seconds, then went for it himself.

'Even I don't want to get my hands near there,' Mike said, watching him study the tiny screen through half closed eyes. 'What is it?'

'Thirty eight point one. You think you can eat something?'

Mike shook his head and closed his eyes, turning on his side.

'OK bud, see how you feel in a couple of hours,' Scott said, patting his nearest shoulder and leaving.

Finn looked up from where he'd been leaning against the sink, chewing his lip.

'I'll stay, in case we need to get him back,' Finn decided, when Scott passed on the value.

'It's not that high, Finn. I've seen him with worse on an operation.'

'Not a week after he nearly died of pneumonia,' his son retorted.

Nothing Scott said could persuade Finn to go on the hike he had planned out until a couple of hours later when he retook Mike's temperature whilst the other man was still asleep.

He came into the kitchen and handed it over for Finn to see for himself.

'Go on, you've still got some daylight left.'

For two days Scott got to continue to play at nurse, whilst Mike slept for most of the time, only waking to drink copious quantities of water, which pleased Scott, and drink a little soup with dry bread, which didn't please him as much, as he was seeing more of Mike's bones showing through his skin, each day.

On the morning of the third day the sound of the shower running in the bathroom woke Scott. Thinking it was Finn, he flipped back the covers, shivered a little before throwing on a sweater and jeans and went to resurrect the fire in the main room.

'You want some toast,' Scott asked, his back to the room as he filled the kettle.

'Please. You got any bacon and eggs, got a real protein craving this morning. Oh, and thanks for washing my clothes,' Mike replied, going to the fridge.

Scott stopped what he was doing and looked carefully.

'Hey, how you feeling?'

'Better. And hungry.'

'Finn did the washing, apparently we stank!' Scott replied, grinning as he went back to filling in the kettle.

'Nice kid you got there,' he said, putting bread in the toaster and getting bacon and eggs out of the fridge.

Scott watched in relief as Mike put away bacon, eggs, baked beans, toast and a huge cup of coffee. Afterward Mike and Finn went for a slow walk around the camp, came back and helped put lunch together. He read for a while after lunch, fell asleep for a couple of hours and then helped prepare dinner, ate, watched TV and fell into bed. It was almost as if his body had flipped a switch and decided it wasn't going to be ill any more, so he wasn't.

Despite the weather getting colder Mike insisted on taking walks every day, the length and speed of the walks increasing until they turned into jogging then running. Scott was with him every step of the way, joined, more often than not, by Finn. Whilst Mike had the excuse that this was his physiotherapy Scott had no such get out clause. The running and weight bearing exercises served to bring home to him just how out of condition he'd allowed himself to become. It also came as quite a shock to him to realise his smoking habit was not helping in the slightest. Finally, after some good natured but worried ribbing from his son and his best buddy, he made the decision to get rid of the cigarettes, a - because he was getting quite ridiculously short of breath and, b - even though Scott didn't smoke in the house, Mike had enough trouble breathing, and he didn't need the smell of smoke adding to his woes.

The evening of the day he'd announced his decision to quit the weed, he was very touched when Finn awkwardly handed him a package after his usual evening trip into town. 

'It's a vaporiser, to help you quit, Dad,' Finn told him in reply to his slightly confused look. 'The bloke in the shop said you can get loads of different flavours, the nicotine hit is more consistent and the batteries last longer.'

Embarrassed Finn dismissed Damien's gratitude and sank into a chair with a bottle of beer whilst Damien read the instructions and tried his new toy. He hadn't said anything but he'd been aching for a cigarette since he got out of bed that morning.

Some days later, as Scott's lungs started getting back to working without being battered by tar filled smoke, he was coughing quite badly when they stopped so he could take Mike's pulse. Mike leaned forward and asked, 

'Shouldn't I be taking your pulse? You sound like you're on your last legs, mate.'

'Shut the fuck up Stonebridge', Scott gasped, letting go of his wrist and bending forwards to try and get his breath back. But Mike was relentless in his teasing.

'Come on, old man, we need to get back by dark,' he laughed, jabbing Scott in the ribs and on the shoulders, doing everything to annoy him.

Unexpectedly Scott took hold of his tormentor and threw him across his hip to the ground.

'All riiight!' Mike said, jumping up and joining in the impromptu sparring session with alacrity.

By the end of twenty minutes both men were very out of breath but feeling much, much better, not to mention covered in cold mud. Just as they were jogging the last few yards to the cabin Finn roared up on Scott's bike and screeched to a halt beside them.

'When the hell happened to you two?'

'Sparring practise,' Mike replied quickly. 'Good bodywork.'

'You look like you've been mud wrestling. You're washing those clothes yourself,' he said decisively, releasing the clutch and riding to the cabin.

'I think Widow Twanky's a bit pissed off with us,' Mike said. Snorting with laughter the pair of them walked back, removed their trainers at the door, then padded across to the tiny utility area where they stripped off and put the mud soaked gear straight into the washer. Mike, cheekily, commandeered the shower next door leaving Scott to the one in the bathroom. Being far too used to barracks life he marched across the main room, buck naked, towards the bathroom. Finn had just come into the kitchen to start getting dinner going.

'Oh God!' he said, covering his eyes with his hand.

'What?' Scott asked. 'I haven't got anything different to you!'

'I know, but I don't need you to prove it to me!'

Even through two doors, Scott could hear Mike laughing.

A couple of days later Finn burst into the cabin full of excitement from his usual trip into the town.

'Dad, I've been offered a job!'

'Didn't know you were looking for work.'

'Well, I wasn't, exactly, Richard's been letting me hang out with him at the restaurant, he's offered to let me work with him there.'

'You're not old enough to work a bar over here, Finn. And who's Richard?'

'It's not bar work, Richard's the chef owner of The Royal Blue,' Finn said this as though it should mean the same to Mike and Scott as it did to him.

'You want to work in a kitchen?'

'Yeah. I want to train as a chef, which means going back to college for a while, but the experience Richard can give me will be invaluable. And, umm, there's also the little problem of me being able to pay Marcus back.'

Mike and Scott swapped a glance which went unnoticed by Finn. Mike already knew Scott had reimbursed Finn's stepfather, what he hadn't realised was Finn didn't know about it.

'What do you know about this guy?' Scott said, beginning the interrogation. OK, the last group who had gotten close to his son hadn't held up the offer of an apparently coveted job as incentive, they'd just kidnapped him off the street but still, you never could tell.

'He's worked with some of the great modern British chefs...'

'He's a Brit?' Mike asked quickly.

'Originally, yeah. He's worked with Michael Caines, Marcus Wareing, he's even done a stint with Michel Roux, junior!' Finn finished in triumph.

'What's his name?' Mike asked, patiently.

'Richard White.' 

Finally Finn began to recognise the signs; his Dad's face looked shuttered, like he had when Mike was dying, shuttered but sharp. A similar tension echoed in the set of Mike's shoulders. It reminded him of the morning he'd accidentally woken them, the day after Mike had joined them. With the announcement that someone had offered Finn a job, two first class predators had suddenly re-emerged.

'Look, he's a nice guy. He's not a paedo or anything. He's getting on a bit, he must be around your ages, in his forties or something. He said if you want to go and talk to him that's fine,' Finn finished, quite unaware of the ageist insult he'd just blithely delivered.

'Getting on a bit?' Scott questioned, the sentence delivered in staccato chunks.

'He's not passed it, or anything. He's a really good teacher and he's passionate about good food.'

'What have you told him about your Dad?' Mike questioned.

'Said he's an IT consultant, who sold up and wanted to get out of the rat race.'

Scott's face broke into an unwilling grin.

'We already know that lie,' Finn said, grinning back at his father. 'I said you were his partner and you'd worked together for a long time. That bit's close enough to the truth to pass as well.'

'I think you're going into the wrong job, you sound like a natural for the intelligence service,' Mike said, dryly. Then held up his hands in mock surrender as Scott's gimlet gaze swivelled his way. 

'If it's OK with you, he said can he meet you at The Royal Blue tomorrow before service starts, about ten forty-five?'

'We'll be there,' Scott assured him, taking it for granted that Mike would be coming with him.

Richard White was as Finn described him, a very pleasant, slightly plump chap with an absolute passion for good food. Richard also introduced them to his wife, a quiet woman with light brown hair and, as became clear once the introductions were finished and she went back to work, a prodigious talent for management and organising the staff, which is what had allowed Richard to be the creative genius in the kitchen.

'Mr Michaels, Mr Bridges, good to meet you and welcome to The Royal Blue!'

Scott nodded as he shook the proffered hand whilst Mike murmured, 'Good morning.'

'Oh, you're British!' Richard exclaimed in delight. 'I thought you would be Australian, like Finn.'

'Prestigious place. Why do you want to give Finn a job here?' Scott asked, getting straight to the point.

Richard looked from Mike to Scott, the accents confusing him.

'I'm Finn's biological father,' Scott replied to his unspoken question. 'And, no, I'm not Australian!'

'Sorry, I just assumed...,' demonstrating his empathy to Scott's less than patient expression, he hurried on. 'Well, anyway, he's very, very interested in food, good food. He retains information and asks intelligent questions. And I like to teach young people who will listen, and, hopefully, become as passionate about cooking it as I am.'

'Where did you meet him?'

Richard smiled gently. 'I forgot you haven't been in town long. There is only one place to meet, greet and chat around here after ten at night, either the bar in here and we close to non-diners at ten-thirty or Dohluburg Diner, and it's only coffee and soft drinks in there. One thing that this town does need is a decent pub! We met in the diner. I thought he was part of the group of kids who were here for a day or two taking a break from the cycling marathon they were doing.'

'Ah, chatting shit!' Mike said, remembering the phrase.

Richard laughed. 'Exactly. Half the staff came back with the phrase the next day.' 

'How long have you been running the restaurant?' Scott asked.

'Must be eight years...'

'Nearly nine,' Melissa said, raising her voice slightly, a North London accent still quite prominent in her speech.

'Sorry, my mistake. We've been married eight years. I call her my good luck charm. I bought this place, met Melissa and it's been going well ever since. It's mingled together in my mind,' he added, giving his wife a huge smitten smile. Turning again to Scott, Richard said, 'Melissa and myself would very much like it if you'd permit Finn to accept the job we're offering. I can't say he'll become a rich man and it'll be hard work, but he will learn the basics and as much else as I can teach him in the time he spends with us.' Melissa turned and nodded her agreement. 'May I show you the kitchens?'

Scott nodded, relaxing an infinitesimal amount. 

The kitchens were spotlessly clean but hellishly noisy. Chef de Parties shouting across the kitchens to their Commis chefs and apprentices, and the answers being shouted back, along with the clatter of pans and knives dancing on chopping boards. A slight lull in the racket occurred when they noticed Richard, but apart from respectful nods and murmurs of 'Chef!' the clamour soon climbed back to its previous decibel level.

'Service starts at midday, we have sixty covers today, always busier in the run up to Christmas,' Richard shouted at them.

'If you're agreeable, Finn can start tomorrow,' Richard said, as they left the kitchen and re-entered the elegant and much quieter domain of the dining area.

'OK. And thanks for giving him a chance,' Scott unbent enough to say.

Richard smiled broadly and shook both their hands again. 'I don't think he'll regret putting in the hours here.'

As soon as they were on the street and out of earshot of anyone else Mike said, 

'What's up?' He knew, as Scott had agreed to let Finn take the job, he was no longer worried that Richard may be a threat to this son but he could see his partner had a problem.

'It's the woman. I'm sure I remember her face from somewhere.'

'Face or body?' Mike checked.

'No, not remember carnally. Workwise.'

'Twenty?'

'I'm sure it was part of something. It'll come to me.' At that moment Scott felt a pang for his lovely Julia and her even more wonderful skills at interrogating disparate databases.

Mike squeezed his shoulder companionably, seeing the memories in his eyes. 

'You think we should do a moonlight?' he checked.

'No, I'm positive she wasn't a threat, she was a witness.' He was silent for a few minutes, thinking, then he said, 'She blew the whistle on her employers when she realised they were laundering money through the restaurants she was managing.'

After a few seconds, Mike asked, 'If you're talking about the Peckham traffickers, it wasn't just money laundering. It was a chain of people traffickers and arms dealers all the way back to Syria. Tania Whitfield. She went into witness protection. You sure it was her? She looks very different from the photographs I remember.'

'That's her, I'm sure of it. She's lost a lot of weight and she's no longer a redhead.'

'Coincidence, someone in witness protection turning up here.'

'We turned up here, she's been here for a while,' Scott reminded him.

Mike nodded, in agreement. 'If she hasn't gone awol she'll have people checking up on her from time to time.'

'Yeah, let's go and ask her?' Scott said, his sarcasm showing, then relented. 'Look, no-one knows what happened in Europe after Ridley shot Locke, we're the only ones still alive who do know.'

'I'm the only one still alive who knows,' Mike reminded Scott, softly.

Scott shook his head, immediately seeing where Mike was heading with that line. 'Oh no, you're not going anywhere without me, buddy! Besides, we never interacted with her. We only know about her as background to an op.'

Mike digested his words and took a deep breath. 'Yeah, you're right.'

Scott smiled and shook off the sudden dark, apprehensive mood.

'We'd better get some great dinners out of Finn and his new job.'

'If he starts bringing food home from there on a regular basis we're going to be running all day. Did you see the amount of butter going into those pans?' Mike replied, joining in.

December was a quiet time in the cabin. Finn was at work and when he wasn't he was in his room having long, intense conversations with his mother who rang him from Australia at least twice a week. Mike and Scott used what few daylight hours there were in outdoor pursuits; long hikes, runs, sparring sessions, which were Scott's favourite way to pass the time. Rebecca had been quite correct, fighting, especially like this, was incredibly intimate. And he was enjoying the intimacy.

Christmas Day lunch, or dinner, as Mike insisted on calling it, was spent at The Royal Blue. Neither man was up for cooking a full Christmas meal with all the trimmings and their resident personal chef was at work, actually cooking for other people. So they decided to join him to sample the delights he and his colleagues were producing. 

Scott was less than pleased, at first, when they were taken through into a room which was right next to the kitchens. His face lowered into a frown before Mike, none too carefully, trod on his foot as he opened his mouth to complain.

'Shut up!' he was ordered, softly. 'This is the chef's table. People pay a lot of money to get seated here.'

'They do?'

Mike nodded. 'You get the chef's special attention and get to try out dishes the rest of diners don't'

Scott nodded, just as Richard came forward, dressed in his chef's whites to shake their hands.

'Mr Bridges, Mr Michaels! Hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of seating you here. You can see Finn working and we'll make sure you have a very good Christmas dinner.'

'Thank you,' Mike smiled.

'Er, yeah, thanks,' Scott replied, lifting a hand to wave at Finn who was smiling at them through the glass window which gave a view onto the kitchens.

'Our other guests for chef's table haven't arrived yet, but, please, sit, make yourselves comfortable. Conrad will take your drinks orders,' he nodded to an unobtrusive young man standing by the wall.'

They seated themselves facing the kitchen with their backs towards the wall and the two entrances to the private room well within each man's eye line. Conrad, the waiter, smoothly took their orders and left briefly. 

Within very few minutes the four remaining diners were being ushered into the room. Both Mike and Scott stood to shake hands with Doctor Shelby.

'Michael, good to see you looking so well, son,' Shelby smiled, then turning to the gentle-faced, white haired lady at his side, he introduced them, 'Constance, this is Michael Bridges and Scott Michaels. This is my sister, Constance Shelby.'

'Pleased to meet you, ma'am,' Scott said, shaking her hand and turning on the charm.

'Oh please, call me Connie, everyone else does! And Michael, I was so pleased to see your discharge paperwork come though. Grayson was quite worried for you at one stage.' 

'Thank you,' Mike replied, a touch wrong footed.

'Connie is the hospital Administrator,' Doctor Shelby explained. 'Ferocious woman with the paperwork, don't get on the wrong side of her,' he warned jokingly, as his sister slapped him lightly on the arm.

At that moment, another two ladies were being brought into the room by Melissa The elder lady, grey haired with a lively intelligent face reminded Mike sharply of Miss Heath. The younger, a magnificent red haired woman, tall and statuesque with a strong face. Mike took a sideways glance at Scott, expecting to see lust blooming in his face, instead a polite smile graced his lips and he kept his eyes on her face not her breasts. Mike was so astounded he nearly missed the introductions.

'...Reynolds and Mildred Spencer,' Richard was saying, when he tuned back in.

'Mildred Spencer, I know that name,' Mike said aloud whilst shaking her hand.

'Your fame precedes you, Aunt,' the red head said, shaking first Scott's hand then Michael's.

'Nonsense,' Mildred replied, 'I'm an old hack, Michael...'

'Political commentator in Washington,' Mike replied, smiling. 'I enjoyed reading your work, ma'am, very much.'

'Thank you, and it's Mildred, not ma'am,' she told him, as she broke off to greet Grayson and Connie in the manner of old friends.

'Two new faces, what brings you gentlemen to Dohluburg?' the younger woman, Kimberley, asked.

'We were on a road trip ma'am, when my buddy, Mike here, fell very ill. So we're staying for a while.'

'Oh, I'm sorry to hear you fell ill, but not sorry you've stayed,' she answered, her steady blue eyes twinkling merrily.

Christmas lunch was long, lively and one of the best meals Mike and Scott had ever eaten. Each item served was special in some way and although there were a lot of courses, each course was composed of small, exquisitely prepared and served dishes. Scott had no problem now seeing why Finn had been over the moon about being offered a position in the kitchens here.

Although not all members of the table were very well acquainted, conversation flowed as copiously and as enjoyably as the food and wine. 

At the dessert end of the meal, Richard came in from the kitchens followed by Finn, who was holding a three level patisserie stand and a cut crystal dish filled with a white, foamy substance.

'This is Finn, our newest apprentice here at The Royal Blue, he's been helping our patisserie chef, Mr Blundell, to prepare today's dessert dishes. In England there is one dessert pastry without which our Christmas dinners would not be complete, so Finn has prepared these for you to try. Go ahead, Finn.'

Carefully Finn put the patisserie stand in the middle of the table, the crystal dish beside it, then spoke,

'We prepared a filling of dried fruits such as sultanas, currents and raisins by soaking them in brandy overnight and cooking them very, very gently in the oven for several hours with spices and a sprinkling of suet. We then combined them with chopped nuts, cooked, unsweetened apple flesh, part dried morello cherries and sour cherries and spooned the mixture into all butter, sweet, shortcrust pastry cases. In England, they're called mince pies as in the original recipe, which dates from the middle ages, minced meat was an ingredient although it is exclusively a sweet dish now.'

Scott was beaming at his son.

'They can be eaten on their own, or with brandy butter, or with cream. We've used whipped cream today which has been flavoured with rum, orange flower essence and a little sugar.'

Mike could smell the well remembered spicy, sweet scent which arose from the warm pies. He wasn't too sure what Scott would make of mince pies, as the ones he remembered were extremely stickily sweet.

Conrad served everyone a pie and a quenelle of the flavoured cream. The pie was nothing like he remembered! Sweet, tart and spice mixed together in his mouth, crumbly pastry and the texture of nuts giving him something to chew then the rum and delicate orange flower from the cream exploded on his tongue like cymbals at the end of a symphony. Embarrassingly he realised he'd just moaned at the taste.

'Oh, I couldn't have put it better myself!' Kimberley sighed, chewing ecstatically. 'God, you British know how to make pastries!'

'Finn, that was magic!' Mike said, meaning every word.

Scott was silent. He was chewing still, his eyes closed and a tiny frown between his eyebrows. He swallowed then slowly opened his eyes and focussed on the pink faced, nervous young man in front of him.

'Finn, that's the most amazing thing I've ever had in my mouth!' he said, with reverence, which set the table laughing. 

Finn grinned delightedly, his face now red.

'Thanks, Dad.' He nodded appreciatively at the rest of the table and returned to the kitchen, making way for Chef Blundell to explain what other delights awaited them from the patisserie stand.

'Finn's your son?' Kimberley asked, her eyes flickering between Scott and Michael.

'Yes, ma'am,' Scott answered, taking undeserved credit for Finn's talent.

'Your son is going to be a great artiste in the kitchen!' she told him, firmly.

'Kimberley is a food writer,' Mildred said to Michael from his other side. 'She's exceptionally good at recognising future chefs with star quality.'

Mike thought Scott was going to explode with pride.

They didn't leave The Royal Blue until very late that evening. The restaurant had only served lunch that day but the chefs table had lingered, chatting to the chefs. Kimberley had leapt at Finn, taking the boy to one side for a long chat. Finn was hyped up and ecstatic at the attention. On the way home he revealed, 

'Mum thinks she can get me on a TAFE course. It's four years but Kimberley says it's a good qualification because it's practical as well as theoretical.'

'Your Mum wants you to go home?' Scott asked, the alcohol buzz muting.

'To get on the course I need to have my year 10 certificate,' Finn replied, looking at Scott from under his eyelashes.

'But you boosted a car and got a flight to Thailand before you took it, right?'

He nodded. 'If I get home by Easter, she says school have said they will let me cram and take the winter exam in June.'

When they got back to the cabin, Mike took himself off to bed, sensing that a lot of father and son talking needed to be done.

Mike awoke late on the twenty-sixth, or Boxing Day, as he'd known it all his life, at home. Home? Not anymore. Quickly back tracking on that line of thought he listened. No sound of voices, so either Scott and Finn had stopped speaking to each other, or they'd said what was needful and sorted things out between them. It was after ten in the morning so he used the bathroom, threw on his running gear and exited quietly into the main room. Surprisingly, the room was warm, the stove still blazing then he saw Scott slouched down in an armchair nursing a cup of coffee.

'You're up early,' he remarked, lifting the cup and helping himself to a large gulp, then he yelped as the burn of booze overcame the warm caffeine.

'Not been to bed yet,' Scott replied, smirking and taking back his doctored brew.

'All sorted?'

Scott nodded. 'He's been thinking about this for a while.'

'Good. He's working towards a goal,' Mike replied, injecting a practical tone into his words.

'It's going to be odd not having him around anymore,' Scott said, taking his empty mug to the sink. 'Give me a minute, I'll join you.'

Mike nodded. Alcohol, no sleep and coffee wasn't exactly the breakfast of champions but they'd both run and fought on worse.

'He'll be back for visits,' Mike said when Scott reappeared, trying to cheer him up.

'He's gonna need to work in kitchens for the next four years at least. Where are we gonna be?' He gave Mike a strange look; wistful but hopeful at the same time before he slapped him on the shoulder as they left the cabin.

Scott put himself though a punishing pace; lost the doctored coffee quite quickly but carried straight on. Mike paced himself, the freezing air tended to aggravate his lungs if he didn't remember to breathe through his scarf and take it slightly easier. He knew that at his current level of health he would have trouble passing the basic army medical let alone the Regiment fitness tests.

The problem of what would happen after Finn returned home to Australia occupied his mind for the majority of his run. They couldn't go back to life on the road unless they found a motel each night and that would be expensive. The biggest obstacle though would be keeping their minds focussed. He'd seen it many times in comrades who'd had to jack in a career in the army only to fall into alcoholism or gambling, or both, through sheer boredom in a lot of cases. Or end up homeless and living on the streets because of mental health issues.

Scott would laugh his socks off but, the stark truth was, they needed something to do in order to stay sharp and actually make some use of the extra years they'd managed to snatch for themselves.

However that was a conversation for a later date, for now Scott and Finn needed to enjoy each other's company in the time they had left together.

It was a busy time between Christmas and into the New Year, Finn was working hard at The Royal Blue, so Mike dragged Scott out on a variety of hikes in the surrounding area under the guise of physiotherapy, in reality it was good for them both. 

On one of these hikes they headed to the summit of one of the many hills which overlooked Dohluburg. From up there the town and its surrounds were laid out like a three dimensional map.

'If you saw that on a map, what would you think?' Mike asked, gesturing to the town.

Scott pulled on his vaporizer, blowing the false smoke away from Mike, out of habit. 

'I'd be thinking that it's a town which would be easy to miss and difficult to get at with ground troops.'

The main highway went around the tall hills to the right of where they were standing which missed out Dohluburg completely. Mike knew, from riding his bike down there, the town wasn't exactly well sign-posted. 

The nearest town west was one hundred and twenty miles away, in the east, north and south, it was nearer two hundred.

'I can't remember, how did you know there was a town there?' Mike asked.

'I saw a pair of old folks in a car about the same age as they were and followed them. They weren't out for highway travel.'

 

Scott looked at Mike and asked, 'Are we getting paranoid?'

'Just because the town we came across looks like it was built by a military strategist for maximum defence from ground attack?' Mike shrugged. 'I suppose it could just be coincidence? After all, it was totally by accident we ended up here.'

Scott thought a moment, then said, 'We're getting paranoid!'

Mike smiled grimly. Paranoia didn't always preclude you being a target. However, they'd been living there for months now and the ideal time to take him out would have been when he was helpless in hospital. Even with Scott defending him, it wouldn't have been that difficult. But they'd been met by nothing but kindness and acceptance.

Maybe Scott was right, perhaps they were both getting paranoid.

The countdown time to Finn's departure began to fly. Firstly, Finn needed to remind himself of the school work he'd done before he left Australia and to start catching up on what he had missed, if he wanted that certificate. Plus he was working at The Royal Blue as many days as he could manage, desperate not to miss anything which would be useful to his chosen career. The days working at The Royal Blue were formalised at four days a week when Scott put his foot down. Four days at The Royal Blue, two days catching up on school work, which came in via email, and one day off a week.

Frequently both Scott and Mike were roped in to act as unofficial teachers with the school work.

Suddenly, it was a week before Easter and time to get Finn to the airport.

The long journey to the nearest airport, which had flights leaving for Australia, was nine hours away and was accomplished with ease. Riding the bikes all together again, it felt like they'd gone back in time to their months on the road. Time telescoped, it seemed to take so little time to get Finn inside, checked in and then they were standing in front of the security checks to the departure gates, beyond which point neither Mike not Scott could proceed, and it was time to say goodbye.

Finn hugged Mike hard, Mike reciprocating.

'I'm going to miss you, kid,' he said softly.

'Me too, Mike. Me too.'

Scott and Finn hung onto each other even after the public address system announced the gate for Finn's flight was about to close.

'I'll be back soon,' Finn assured his father. 'In the meantime you need to talk to Mike. Promise me?'

Scott promised then Finn was gone, flashing his boarding pass to security before he turned around and waved once, then resolutely faced forward and was lost in the crowds.

'You know,' Mike remarked, as they were standing looking into the gate, 'It would be easier if there was a house for him to come and stay at. Give it a couple of years and he'll be bringing a girlfriend with maybe a couple of kids in tow to see his Dad. Highly unlikely a road trip would go down so well then.'

Scott turned to Mike and surprisingly grinned. 'You been chatting shit with Finn?'

'No. Just an idea. What's so funny and what do you need to talk to me about?' he asked, his stomach and chest feeling like they did just before a mission. Was this when Scott was going to suggest they parted company?

'That's exactly what he wants me to talk to you about. He even looked at a couple of places.'

'What? Where?'

'Just outside Dohluburg. Near enough if we need anything, far enough away for some privacy.'

'And how do you feel about settling down and becoming a man of property instead of a free spirit?'

'We were gonna have to do it at some point,' Scott replied, pragmatic and honest. 'If we don't like the place, long term, we don't need to stay.'

'We?'

Scott looked at Mike and raised his eyebrows.

'Are you asking me to move in with you?' Mike asked, grinning as they walked back to the terminal entrance.

'What else are you going to do, Mikey? Desert me and go and live off a rich widow. You were very taken with Mildred, or was it the niece, Kimberley?'

'Very nice ladies, both of them,' Mike replied, in the same vein. 'So, are you asking me?'

'Yeah, I guess I am.'

'Well, I don't know what to say! This is all so sudden!' he said, in a very camp, girlie voice.

Scott lifted a middle finger.

'You interested or not?'

'Such a romantic proposition, how could I possibly refuse.'

Grabbing Mike quickly around the neck with his arm, Scott planted a big sloppy kiss on his cheek before he could be pushed away. Laughing evilly at Mike's expression of disgust, he said, 

'Come on, let's get something to eat. Celebrate our engagement!'

'Fuck you, Scott,' Mike replied, baldly, to the invitation.

'Not here, honey, we need to get a room first,' then danced out of Mike's reach.

'Anyway, we're not engaged, you haven't asked me, yet!' he shouted after Scott, the tension leaving him so suddenly made him feel light-headed and giddy.

Away from the airport they found a decent looking restaurant and ordered food. Over the meal, Scott went quiet, his previous horsing about seemingly forgotten.

'Honeymoon over all ready?' Mike asked, trying to get a rise out of his companion.

'What are we going to do? We've got a few years until either our knees or our livers give out but what do we do in the meantime? We're going to get so bored.'

Mike dropped his eyes briefly, able to successfully hide his smile. Scott, well versed in 'Stonebridge' said, 

'You've already thought this through, haven't you?'

'Not thought everything through but, we could get a job.'

'Can you really see us as nine to fivers with a nice little wife and a bambino on each arm?'

Mike hid his wince at the same moment Scott remembered Kerry and the child they had lost.

'I'm sorry, bud!'

Mike shrugged and waved his hands in a 'forget it' gesture, then said,

'You might meet someone, get married this time and have more children.'

'Not sure adrenaline junkies like us can hack mainstream.'

'Well, we'll just have to suck it and see, won't we?' Mike replied, heavy on the innuendo.

Scott snorted, 'Careful what you wish for, Mikey.'

'When you're man enough, Scott. You still got the information on those properties?'

Scott pulled three, well thumbed, folded sheets of paper from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and handed them across the table.

'None of them are move in ready.'

Mike snorted. 'No kidding!' The building on the first sheet had gaping holes in walls and roof.

Scott looked at the one he was checking out. 'That one might take us four years to make habitable. I was thinking the second and third one look better.'

'Why did he pick that one?' Mike asked, curiously.

'Lots of land with it and it's the furthest from town, in case we didn't want to live too near other people.'

Mike nodded at the reasoning. 'It's worth taking a look and maybe having a chat to a real estate agent.'

Scott was staring at him when he looked up.

'What?'

'You're OK with this? I mean really OK?'

Mike fixed Scott with his own patented stare and gave a small smile. In 'Stonebridge', it said, very clearly, stop being such a fuckwit.

Scott stared at the square building in front of him. This was the seventh property they had looked at and, like a number of the others, it had definitely seen better days. The veranda which went all the way around the outside at ground level was missing more than a few slats. The front door hung slightly askew and closed with a dusty hasp and padlock to keep out the unwelcome. The windows had been boarded over so, he assumed, the glass was still good. All of the wooden walls showed the grey weathering of untreated timber. There were a few tiles missing from the roof at the front but that apart the rest of the roof looked reasonably sound. Away to the right a barn and outbuildings stood in the same forlorn and neglected condition.

'It looks like it came out of the Wild West,' Mike said. 'How do you keep the weather out of single skin walls?'

'Talking to the wrong man here, buddy. I've always lived in brick or stone houses.'

'And with the British climate you don't tend to find too many wooden houses being built.'

'Come on, let's take a look,' Scott said, producing a key from his pocket.

Unsurprisingly the huge room they walked into was dark, due to the windows being boarded up. And there were signs of animal activity on the floor. No sign that anyone had been sleeping rough here though. A minor miracle in Mike's book.

Scott pulled a plan out of his pocket and switched on a small flashlight. 

'Kitchen, lounge, fireplace, should be a staircase at the back...'

'There's about three layers of planks on these walls,' Mike interrupted him.

'Uh huh,' Scott replied intelligently, heading for the stairs. 'Three bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs.' He stood for a moment looking around in the gloom. 'You know I bet part of the this room could be partitioned for a bedroom and a bathroom down here.'

Mike, at his shoulder, consulted the plans and looked about him. 'Shouldn't be a problem, it's plenty big enough.'

One after the other they climbed the staircase being very careful of the wooden treads. A broken leg would not be funny. The staircase emerged on the upstairs landing with the bathroom on the left, a bedroom next to that and the other two bedrooms on the right hand side.

'Good sized rooms,' Mike remarked, poking his head through the door of the first one on the right, whilst, quite naturally, Scott had headed left, exactly as if they were clearing a building. He checked out the next room then went back to find Scott who had managed to work part of a plank from the window and was looking out. 

The house was at least one hundred yards from it's nearest neighbour, the land in between dusty scrub. The road leading to the property was a narrow band of concrete and obviously not a through road. There was a clear view to where the land rose towards the hills which protected Dohluburg from casual observers on the highway beyond.

'The sun will rise just there,' Scott said, nodding to the point where the hill sloped gracefully down to the main road coming into the valley, which was a good distance from where the house stood. 

Mike went next door to the bathroom and tried the taps on the old, iron, claw footed bath. The pipes groaned, growled and banged to finally give up a trickle of rust brown water.

'What do you think?' Scott asked.

Mike looked around the darkened room, the light from his phone illuminating the bare walls and elderly fittings.

'Reminds me of you. Knackered and unpromising exterior but got potential,' he grinned.

'Even you finally succumbed to my charms, you cheeky bastard!'

'Right, let's make a list of everything we can see that's wrong with the place,' Mike continued, very businesslike.

'Why?'

'So we can use it to beat them down on price, of course,' Mike said.

'Mikey, the price is in dollars, it's been empty for nine years. It's peanuts anyway.'

'No point in paying more than we have to,' Mike replied, his parsimonious soul offended at the idea of not trying to better the bargain.

'Ohh,' Scott groaned. 'This is going to be fucking painful!'

Mike's list of problems saved them several hundred dollars which went towards getting the plumbing replaced, the roof repaired and the exterior skin ripped off and replaced with an insulating layer and a treated skin of new wood. Solar panels on the roof, surprisingly, were Scott's idea, and the stove in the kitchen fireplace was Mike's. He loved the wood burning stove in the cabin and wanted one in their new home.

As soon as the plumbing was in place they released the cabin and moved in. They'd certainly stayed in much worse places before. The interior needed a fair bit of attention once the major structural work was done but they had somewhere to sleep, eat and wash, which was fine. 

They sanded, waxed and resined the floors, bringing out the beautiful grain of the wood which had been hidden under decades of grime. They cleaned and waxed the walls and the ceilings which made the rooms glow with gentle, amber light. The downstairs bedroom with it's ultra modern en-suite, carved from the huge kitchen area made the over sized room feel more friendly and cosy. They even found a little space to stick the washer and drier out of ear and eyeshot.

The kitchen proved to be the sticking point. Neither man had ever given any thought to what kind of a kitchen would be functional in a home. Mike had lived in army houses with Kerry, where you got what you were given, then in barracks, which was a room and a bed. Scott's longest period living in a happy house was with Reverend Joe and Hannah and that had been an old house where the kitchen table was the food preparation area, the place to eat and the general meeting cum homework area too. Going online to get some ideas resulted in image overload.

'I didn't even know there could be so many ways of designing a kitchen!' Mike said, confusion and irritation lacing his voice.

'Sounds like a whiney Brit to me,' Scott replied, having long since given up checking out the pictures. He was busy putting a message in a draft folder within the email account they had set up for the purpose. They could 'email' but the emails would never be found flying about over a network, as they didn't get sent. 

If anyone had an idea of what a decent kitchen should look like, it was someone who wanted to spend his entire working life in one.

Finn's reply was succinct and included an image. Use the same design as the cabin, was the basic message. But add more cupboards, this type of work surface and something in dark red or mid-blue would look good.

When the kitchen was finally fitted, in all it's glossy, deep cherry red and sparkling black granite worktop glory, Scott turned to Mike and said, 

'Why didn't we think of that?'

'Because we were paid to shoot people not cook a four course meal for them!' Mike replied, straight to the point.

The remaining repairs were to the decking on the veranda, which took time but was simple. The late summer weather joined in making this a pleasant activity with day after day of blue skies and welcome warmth on skin. Both men chose to work in shorts, without shirts, but Mike chose boots for his feet, whilst Scott decided flip flops were fine. After liberally rubbing sun cream all over first thing, they tended to work from early morning until around midday, have lunch and a rest and resume in the afternoon after the main heat of the day had died down. 

On the third day of this, Scott found out that flip flops were not good working gear for feet when he dropped several planks of wood on his right foot. The shouted swearing over rode Bruce Springstein belting out 'Born in the USA' and brought Mike around from the back.

'What happened?'

'Shit! Fuuuccck!' Scott yelled, sitting down on the ground and holding his foot.

'Bloody idiot! I told you to put some boots on. Let's have a look.'

'Ah shit, Mikey! Hurts even worse than getting shot!'

'Come on, let's get you inside.'

He helped Scott up, who leaned heavily on him as he hopped inside the house and onto the settee. Mike grabbed a dining chair to sit on as he pulled Scott's foot onto his lap for examination.

'I don't think it's broken, just very badly bruised.' He twisted Scott around so he was lying down, put a couple of cushions under his foot to elevate it and said, 'I'll get some ice, keep the swelling down.'

He returned with a big bag of ice wrapped in a towel and a bandage, which he firmly and professionally put on Scott's foot. Then he draped the towel covered ice bag over his foot. Scott hissed in pain.

'Sorry mate,' Mike said as he rearranged the bag so it wrapped around his foot. 'Here, take these.' He held out two tablets with a big glass of cold water. Scott didn't even ask what they were before swallowing them down.

'Gimme a shout if you need anything.'

'Where you going?' Scott asked, indignant about being left inside.

'To finish up, of course. Stay there, idiot. You can't even get a shoe on. Watch the tele or something,' he ordered, stepping back outside into the sunshine.

For a while Scott was too annoyed with himself and, curiously, with Mike, to do anything other than lie there and seethe. Gradually though, the painkillers and the regular sound of hammering soothed him until he dropped off to sleep.

Hours later he awoke, a little fuzzy and couldn't work out, at first what had shocked him out of sleep then he realised that the regular hammering had stopped and been replaced by the sound of the electric saw they had hired. Mike was doing the corners, the very last bits. 

He struggled to his feet, glancing at the clock. Late afternoon. Jez, he'd been asleep for hours. In the intervening time his right foot had stiffened up, even under the supporting bandage and Mike was right, he couldn't even get his flip flop on, let alone a shoe. 

Leaving off any footwear he limped across to the fridge and took out a couple of bottles of beer, knocked the tops off and limped outside. Mike'd already done one corner and was at the back of the house, judging by the noise.

As he rounded the corner about to shout out it was break time, he saw Mike knelt on one knee, wielding a hammer. The sweat running down his back was glistening in the afternoon sun, the mellow light gilding him in pinks and gold as his muscles bunched and stretched underneath his skin. He'd managed to put back most of the weight he'd lost when he'd been ill; sleek muscle which outlined and defined his body perfectly. 

The words stopped in his throat as his mouth abruptly went dry with lust. His heart hammered against his ribs and his breath sped up enough to make the beer bottles in his hand chime gently together. As fast as he could he moved out of sight, in case Mike should turn around and see him. He leaned heavily against the wall of the house trying to get his traitorous body under control.

After a few minutes of deep breathing his shaking was gone but the tightness in his shorts stubbornly remained. He brought to mind a few of his tried and trusted delaying tactics; overflowing ash trays, backed-up toilets but nothing seemed to be working. He looked down at himself and almost growled. Like Mike wasn't going to notice that pointing at him! He flicked the button at the waist of his shorts, taking a deep breath he pushed one of the icy cold bottles inside and screwed his face up at the sensation. Unpleasant, bordering on pain, but effective. Retrieving the bottle he put himself to rights and carried on limping around the new veranda until he was near enough to touch his partner.

'Hey, Mikey,' he shouted holding out a bottle.

'Oh, thanks mate.'

Scott got a perverse sense of pleasure in knowing where that bottle had been a couple of minutes ago and then seeing Mikes lips close around the neck and take several deep draughts of the cold liquid inside. Oh, he was so fucked in the head!

Mike gestured with the bottle at his foot.

'You should keep that elevated and iced.'

Scott was looking at the veranda, it was virtually finished. Ignoring the advice, he said, 

'Great job!'

'Thanks,' Mike smiled. 'Now, go on, bugger off,' he said, draining the bottle, handing it back and going back to work.

Scott limped leisurely back, at the corner he rewarded himself with a last look at that beautifully put together body before limping straight to the downstairs en-suite and taking care of his own wooden problem.

By the time dusk was falling Mike had completed all the veranda slats, leaving only the hand rails and staining of the new wood to go.

Scott had been keeping the worker regularly supplied with drinks of various types and had put some dinner together. Mike came in and put the tools they'd been using in a tidy pile in the corner of the kitchen.

'Chow's up in ten,' Scott said, from the stove, missing the hard stare Mike directed at swathed thing which used to be a foot on the end of Scott's leg.

'I'll grab a shower first.'

'OK,' Scott replied, chewing on a tomato.

Food was finished and clean-up dealt with before Scott deigned to pander to his swollen foot. Whilst Mike packed another bag with ice, he took off the bandage. In the intervening hours his foot had turned a brilliant profusion of deep red, purples and black.

'Just not your colours, mate,' Mike said, sitting down on the settee, with the ice and a fresh bandage, Scott's foot on a cushion on his lap.

'Can you move your toes alright?' 

The toes under his eyes bent and straightened. Mike grunted and re-bandaged the appendage, wrapping the towel covered ice bag over it afterwards.

Mike didn't seem disposed to move, he sat, quite happily, dozily watching the television and resting his hands across Scott's legs. The very picture of cosy domesticity. For once Scott didn't mind a bit.

He'd never, ever, had a domestic scene with any of the, extremely, long line of women he'd bedded. With one exception, he'd never been so emotionally invested in another person before, especially not one with whom he wasn't in a sexual relationship. He'd certainly never bought a home and moved in with someone before. His relationship with Michael had always been a long line of firsts and that bit didn't appear to be changing.

Mike had dozed off after his long day of hard work. His face and what Scott could see of his neck was still pink, so despite the suncream he'd gotten sunburned. Scott's visual memory helpfully supplied a picture of Mike laying the corner slats, sweat, glistening in the sunlight down his back. Hurriedly he shoved it back in it's box, there were no helpfully very cold bottles of booze handy at the moment.

'You want some painkillers?' Mike sleepily asked, without opening his eyes, taking the squirming for discomfort of a different kind.

'Nah, I'm good,' Scott replied, aiming for nonchalant.

It must have missed the mark because he could feel Mike looking at him.

'Go back to sleep.'

After a few minutes the hands on his legs relaxed again.

Next morning, Monday, after Mike re-bandaged his blackened foot, Scott insisted on doing his fair share of the work. He managed to get his boot on, unlaced. The swelling was much better after being iced, bound and elevated.

With two of them, and plenty of good old rock and roll playing in the background, the work went quickly. By lunchtime they had two sides of the railings in. By dusk they had finished and were all set to start putting the protective stain on the all the new wood.

They threw together a scratch meal and ate in almost silence. Scott could tell that Mike was stiff and sore. After they'd cleaned up, Mike brought out the bottle of decent whisky they had stored and poured two large measures.

Taking pity on him, Scott told him to go and lie down and then fetched the bottle of extra virgin olive oil Finn had told them to use for salad dressings.

He spent almost an hour massaging the sore muscles in Mike's arms, back and shoulders. Then they swapped places.

About ten minutes into his own massage Scott fell asleep on the bed and knew nothing further until very early the next morning.

He heard Mike moving around quietly in the kitchen, then the faucet ran for his morning drink of water. 

He put his running gear on, undid the bandage on his foot and jammed it in his running shoe then exited the bedroom.

'Seriously?' Mike said, seeing him kitted out and ready to go.

'Yeah, I need to stretch my legs,' he replied, taking the cup out of his hands and finishing the water. 'You might even beat me this morning.'

Mike snorted with laughter, put his ear buds in and began his warm up exercises outside.

The sun had barely cleared the horizon and the air felt deliciously cool but with the promise of another hot, late summer day to come.

Each step Scott took, for the first twenty minutes, jarred his foot then the pain moved into numbness which enabled him to reduce the gap between himself and Mike. Not that Mike was leaving him totally to his own devices, he wasn't. He kept looking over his shoulder to make sure Scott was still on his feet and battling forward.

Mike led the way along the land at the back of the house, up through the trees and onto the ridge, along the top for about a mile then down through the trees again, describing a huge circle. They'd worked it out previously as about six miles and should take about an hour to do at a reasonable pace. Given Mike was keeping an eye on Scott and Scott wasn't in the best shape for running, the hour was lengthened somewhat by the time Mike returned to the house and commenced his cool down exercises. He could see Scott labouring back towards the house as he finished his cool down and went inside to make a start on some breakfast before finishing off the woodwork outside.

He drank more water whilst waiting for the coffee machine, took off his hoodie, wiped his face and started assembling the ingredients for breakfast. He plonked a pint glass of water on the end of the worktop nearest the kitchen door for Scott. He heard his slightly uneven gait sound on the veranda then the man himself entered the kitchen reaching for the water. 

'Coffee?'

Scott nodded, swallowing the water. Then he took his hoodie off, slung it across the back of a chair and went to collect his mug of the good stuff. As he reached for the mugs, Mike turned around and they collided, both cups spilling over Scott's reaching right arm and across the floor.

'Oh fuck! Shit Scott! Quick, get your arm under the tap.'

He pulled Scott to the sink and turned the cold tap full blast, pushing his arm into the frigid flow and holding it there.

'God, I'm sorry, mate. First your foot and now your arm.'

'The foot was my own stupid fault Mike, the coffee was an accident...'

'I'm really sorry...'

'It's OK, no harm done.'

'Leave your arm under the tap for another few minutes. I can't believe I did that...'

Scott looked at Mike, the pain on his face for the injury he'd inadvertently inflicted on his partner was writ large in his dilated pupils, increased respirations and the incessant stream of apologies falling from his lips. Scott wanted him to stop apologising and calm down. Without actually thinking of the possible consequences, he took his face between his hands and kissed his lips. Not a quick peck but a tender touch of forgiveness, one a lover would bestow.

There was a few seconds of total silence. Which was one of Scott's aims, before Mike exploded into action. Scott found himself pressed hard against the wall, Mike's forearm hard across his throat, his thigh pressed between his legs, putting a large amount of pressure on his balls and a thousand yard stare in his clear green eyes.

'I swear to God, Scott, if you are fucking with me...'

Oh shit, he's going to kill me, Scott thought as his vision started to go fuzzy and spotty from lack of oxygen. Consciously he relaxed all his muscles, allowing himself to go limp, to remove any threat response to Mike's action. He tried to shake his head but his throat was in too much of a vice like grip. He tilted his hips down, slowly, bringing Mike's thigh into contact with his unmistakable erection.

'Does that feel like I'm kidding?' he croaked.

'Side effect of flight or fight response. And you must be really fucking suicidally bored to try and screw with me!' Mike snapped, but at the same time easing the pressure against Scott's windpipe.

Scott's face creased up in naked horror and pain as if the pressure had increased.

'I would never, ever do that to the man who put his life on the line to buy me this life. A life and the opportunity to get to know my son,' he wheezed, genuinely upset and hurt at the accusation.

Mike tried to see behind Scott's habitual poker face to where he was sure was a laughing demon. It didn't take long to realise the barriers were completely gone.

Scott never let anyone past his fortified walls which surrounded his heart and mind. But now Mike could see straight past them into his very soul; pain at his accusation and below that lust and love, want and screaming need, all there and easy to read.

'How did I not work out you're bi?' Mike asks softly, his eyes never leaving Scott's.

'A man has to be exceptional and exceptionally special, don't tend to meet many of those in our line of work. Plenty of women around usually though, and that attracts less attention.'

'Plenty of women in town,' Mike reminded him, taking his forearm from Scott's throat and laying his hand against his chest instead.

Scott shook his head and Mike could see a tide of dull red on his bewhiskered cheeks and down his neck. His hands drifted up to rest around Mike's waist, feeling him breathing in jerky increments as he gently pulled him closer. 

'I only want you,' Scott told him, his blue green gaze never wavered.

Mike swallowed hard before he asked quietly, 

'What if I...can't?'

'Are you saying no, Mikey?' Scott asked, just as softly, his gaze held Mike rooted to the spot as he moved nearer, close enough to breathe across his lips, 

'Tell me if you don't like anything I do.' He feathered barely there kisses across the still lips beneath his own. 'You can tell me to stop anytime, Mikey.'

The contact from each touch of his lips lasted a tiny bit longer than the last, as he slowly and tenderly tried to kiss the indecision from his partner. 

'Please Mikey, please,' Scott exhaled against Mike's mouth.

A twitch then Mike's hand came up to cradle the back of his head, and turned him slightly as Mike started to kiss him back. Hesitant, at first, then, as he realised that, whilst the gentle, mobile lips moving against his have way more whiskers around them than he's used to, they're just lips. It's still Scott in his arms. His friend, his partner, the man he would lay down his life for without a second thought. Does that equal love? Agape or Phillia? That was the kind of love Mike had been prepared to accept from Scott, for the rest of his life. He'd never considered Eros. Not from the man who appeared to think that women, by the thousand, were required for stress relief at every opportunity. 

Or was it that he never dared to consider Eros? Whatever his mind thought, his body reacted to the stimulation on his lips and the hands caressing his waist, as usual. Heat, pooled low in his belly, lungs worked harder to draw in more oxygen. His mouth opened, and taste flooded in, combining with scent and touch. His rational thought processes suspended, as he gave in to the lust he could feel build within. He pulled at the cotton which lay between his and Scott's skin, desperate to get close to the radiant heat, it's promise pulling him in.

Impatiently Mike pushed Scott's t-shirt up and undid the button and zip on his shorts until the offending garment could be shoved down out of the way. He groaned into the open mouthed kiss and latched onto the tongue which offered itself.

Scott was beyond any form of coherent thought. His desire controlled him and pushed him, screamed at him to get rid of the garments in the way and pull all that delicious skin to join with his. Vaguely he remembered pulling Mike's t-shirt over his head and then none too carefully shift his shorts out of the way to get to his hot, hard prize. His hand roamed over the crinkled skin of Mike's ball sack, held and weighed, then his thumb and fingers ringed his searing cock, the friction too great to allow smooth movement until he rubbed his thumb over the tip and collected pre-cum which caused a gasp and a shiver from the wonderful body that was, at long last, in his arms.

Hands moved quickly on each other which made kissing hit and miss. They watched each other's face for visual clues; speed up, slow down, more pressure. 

For a time all that filled Scott's mind was the sight of hugely enlarged black pupils, ringed with a tiny sliver of green, gasps of pure pleasure washing across his face, animalistic grunts and moans as they fought to get the other to orgasm first. 

It's hard, rough, messy and absolutely glorious.

Eyes remained open, to watch, as first one then the other face dissolved into surprised bliss. One came with a shout of completion, the other with a silent gasp and a frown, as each spilled their ecstasy over the other's fist.

Scott saw stars spark in his greyed out vision as his shaking legs dumped him on the floor, and pulled Mike down with him. They lay on the floor, side by side, chests heaving, eyes closed.

'Fuck me!' Scott gasped.

'You're definitely going to have to give me a few minutes for that one!' Mike replied, just as winded.

'You dog, Mikey. You been holding out on me! And, by the way, you definitely can!'

They remained silent, got their breaths back, before Scott sat up, unlaced his trainers and took them off, followed by his shorts, then he grabbed Mike's nearest foot, and repeated the manoeuvre on him. They were both nude when he rolled on top of Mike and looked into his eyes before kissing him, deeply. Seconds later he's rolled over before Mike broke the kiss.

'You like being on top then, Mikey?'

'I'm an equal opportunities lover. Giving you the equal opportunity to get splinters in your arse.'

Scott laughed, Mike smiled, then the smile faded as he read Scott's unusually open face beneath his.

'Are we sure about this? Whatever the hell it is we're doing?' Mike whispered.

'We're making love in the kitchen,' Scott answered, as he dove in for another kiss. Then stopped when he felt Mike's attention wandering. 'Are you going to have a heterosexual crisis and head for the hills now?' he asked, carefully.

Mike shook his head. 'I should be doing,' he replied, as he gave the answer due consideration. 'But I'm not.' He kissed along Scott's jaw and down his throat, sucked briefly on his Adam's apple. 'I can't remember the last time I felt as peaceful and content as this,' he said, softly. Then his mood changed, lightening fast. 'Please tell me this isn't some kind of weird assed pity fuck?'

Scott laughed without mirth, his hand rested on the side of Mike's head as his thumb rubbed across his bottom lip. 

'If this was a pity fuck I would have fucked your brains out well before we left Europe, because there was sod all guarantee that you'd get out of London alive.' He swallowed hard. 'Waiting all that time for the signal from you to say you were on your way were the worst fucking weeks of my life.' He surged up and gave a tongues and all kiss of desperate thankfulness, which left both men light headed and breathless when they had to break for air.

Scott deliberately moved his hips against the hardening cock pressed against his and sighed sensuously. 

'Glad little Mikey's up for another round.'

'Less of the little.' Mike leaned down, his eyes closed as his tongue pillaged Scott's mouth. Just as abruptly he stopped and rested his forehead against Scott's. 

'Damien, if this is a one off, an experiment, you'd better tell me now.'

Scott shook his head, willing Mike to read him and believe him.

'If you decide in a few weeks, or months, you've had enough and start working your way through Doluburg's women, I think you'll break me,' Mike told him, in painful honesty.

'Never,' he said firmly. 'There is no-one on this planet I trust more. No-one.'

'No-one I trust more than you either. Is that going to be enough?' Mike asked. 

'When it turns to love, yes,' Scott whispered. He waited a beat before asking, 'Is that going to be a problem?'

Mike smiled down into Scott's face and shook his head. 'I never, ever thought I would hear Damien Scott saying that. And I certainly never ever imagined you would be saying it to me!' he finished on a less than chaste kiss.

'Just remember, Mikey, that goes both ways. If you tom cat around on me, I'll rip your fucking balls off!'

'Copy that!'

Towards dusk, when they were laid tangled together, temporarily sated, in the big bed downstairs, Scott was dozing with his head on Mike's shoulder, Mike's arms wrapped around his new lover. Mike was wide awake, staring into the gathering darkness.

By rights his psyche should be screaming in sexual identity crisis and confusion by now. Instead he's boneless and replete with satiation. He doesn't think he's ever come so many times in one day, not even when he was a teenager.

He actually feels incredibly calm and serene, like the last piece of his own personal jigsaw has just been slotted into place and it's displaying an unexpected, but not unwelcome, picture.

He's completely aware that he's handed total control over his heart and soul to a man who's renown for neither his fidelity nor his prowess with long-term relationships, but he feels safer and more secure than he can ever remember feeling.

Almost as if he's spoken aloud Scott shifts, drops a kiss to his chest just over his heart, opens his eyes and gives him a blindly sweet, breathtakingly devoted smile.

'You're thinking too much, Mikey.'

'Well, all my sexual relationships so far have been with women so I thought I was totally heterosexual, yet, here I am, in bed with my best mate, my male best mate and I've come so many times today with him that my balls feel like raisins. I think I've earned some thinking time.'

Scott gives a cheeky smile as he fondles his mate's aforementioned 'raisins' then his expression turns serious.

'I don't, you know.'

'Don't what?'

'Screw around when I'm serious about someone. And I've never been more serious about anyone. Julia came close but I just can't imagine carrying on without you in my life.'

'You would. Might be difficult but you would,' Mike said, remembering when he'd felt Death breathing down his neck, yet again.

Scott shook his head, his eyes bright with sudden moisture, effortlessly following Mike's unspoken train of thought. 

'I had it planned out. If you'd died from pneumonia I was going to put Finn on a plane home then go on a bender which would have killed me.' 

Mike feels his eyes tear up and doesn't trust his voice to answer. He swallows and gathers Scott closer as he settles back to sleep, Scott using the hollow of Mike's shoulder as a pillow. A little later Mike feels a hand gently wipe the salt from his face, pat his cheek, then go back to rest across his chest. He picks up the hand and kisses the palm whispering, 

'I love you.'

Scott whispers, his eyes still closed, 'You've already proved that. You didn't hesitate in offering up your life so I could have a life with Finn.'

'I didn't think of it like that,' Mike admits, quietly.

'Which is exactly what makes you astounding.'

Mike can feel himself blushing as their gentle kisses turn heavy and heated. And just as quickly stop when neither man can feel an expected reaction. Two pairs of eyes check out the quiescent scene below their waists.

'Ah!' Mike says, a rueful laugh on his lips.

Scott laughs too, settling into what is rapidly turning into his favourite sleep position; head resting on Mike, listening to the steady beat under his ear, Mike's arms around his back and Scott's arm across his chest. Thighs comfortably resting between thighs. 

'Not sure either one of us has got the energy for another round, anyway.'

Michael smiled into the dark. He knew he'd been happy since getting out of London in one piece. Meeting up with Scott, going on the road with him and Finn, it had been good, very good. OK, nearly dying wasn't a high point, but buying this house, turning it into a home with Scott, he thought he'd been happy, up until earlier that morning.

Now he knows better. That was nothing to the way he's feeling now! His heart is light, his mind and body so at ease. It feels more than amazing to be with someone who knows him better than he knows himself and accepts every little part of him, without question, and loves him in every way possible. 

He feels like he's been viewing his world in black and white, all his life. But now he's seeing it in glorious Technicolor, for the first time. It's breathtaking! Amazing! Incredible! He's indifferent to the fact this person is male. He knows he wouldn't be like this with any other man. Only Damien Scott. He's Scottsexual! He giggles silently to himself as he strokes the short bristles at the back of Scott's head.

A short while later he follows Scott, sliding quickly into deep sleep, a smile on his face, feeling so very, very blessed.

It's a further three days before two rather sore, but very happy men, finally emerge to make a start on staining the veranda.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from John 15:13 (King James Version (KJV))  
> Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.
> 
> Dohluburg - Bastardised Old English, which means something like Secret Town.
> 
> Mince pie recipe - old family recipe, gets jazzed up with each generation!
> 
> Do a moonlight - shortened version of 'To do a moonlight flit'. To leave somewhere discretely, without explanation, usually without paying out money owed.


End file.
